Who Did It?

        Ma’s fingers shook as she dialed 911. “Send an ambulance to 510 Clay Street,” she pled in a hurried whisper. “My husband just fell down the stairs. He’s eighty-eight.”

        “She pushed me!” Pa shouted. He sat on the bottom step holding a towel to his forehead.

        “Is he bleeding?” the dispatcher asked.

        “He cut his head, but no bones are broken.  He was unconscious when I found him”

        Pa shouted louder. “She pushed me!”

        “Who pushed him?”

        Ma covered the phone. “Hush, Ernie. He heard you.”

        “So what? I’ll tell the whole world.  Hillary Clinton pushed me down the stairs!”

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What Did She Bury?

        “Come here, girl,” the blue coat shouted.

        Betsy ran, but not fast enough. The Yankee captain grabbed her arm and spun her around.

        “Let go of me, you beast!” Her heart beat faster than a Kentucky race horse.

        “Sweetheart, what did you bury in the garden?”

        When she struggled, he pressed her against his chest. “Don’t try to deny it, sweetie. The ground is fresh turned.”

        “The old dog.” She spat in his face.

        He swore, shoving her away. “I don’t believe you.”

        “Dig it up, yourself. I was afraid your soldiers would eat it. They’ve eaten everything else.”

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Master of What?

        Julie’s computer whirred like a lawn mower, but she ignored it.

         “What’s that noise?” Courtney asked, standing at the bedroom door.

        “My computer.”

        “It sounds like it’s about to explode.”

        Julie laughed. “My report is due tomorrow.”

        Courtney thumbed her phone. “Seth’ll fix it for you.”

        “Keep your boyfriend away from my computer.” Julie knew what a geek Seth was. He called himself the cyber master of Arizona State. She’d dated him before Courtney had.

        Courtney had already received his text. “He said turn it off.”

        “No.”

        “But this is advice from the master!”

        “Master—my big fat broken heart.”

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Written in Blood

        The scriptwriters huddled together. They had to come up with an ending to the episode, one the audience would never expect.

        “What if the killer left a calling card?” Sid asked. “A teaser for the police.”

        “Like a rose?” Jake frowned. “Been done before.”

        Sid tried again. “What if the killer forgot his phone?”        

        “Too dumb.” 

        Molly was new to the group. She hesitated before offering her idea. ”What if the victim had tried to write something as he was dying?”

         Sid smirked. “With his blood?” 

         “Would he write the killer’s name?”  Jake asked.

        She laughed. “No, his blood type.”

Here's the link to other great flash fiction:

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Naughty Prince

        “Have you completed the assignment, Your Majesty?” the tutor asked.

        The young prince smirked. He had enjoyed ten years of being totally irresponsible. No rules, no consequences and no homework.

        Sir William stroked his pointed beard. “If you don’t finish your Latin, the whipping boy will be summoned.”

        The prince laughed. “I’m not going to study the Latin, no matter how many times you whip the boy.”

        “Shall I bring up a girl?”

        “Oh, come now, Sir William. Even I’m not that big a scoundrel.”

        “I’ll be back in half an hour. I expect the assignment to be finished.”

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Sweet!

        Jerry entered the elevator just before the door slid closed.  The passengers moved aside to allow him room and the large pastry box he carried.

        Seconds later, he sneezed.    

        Jerry sniffed. “Excuse me. I called in sick, but my boss said he couldn’t spare me today.”   

        Suddenly, the lights blinked and went out.

        A woman screamed in the dark.

        “Stay calm,” someone said. “Emergency power should kick in.”

        But it didn’t.

        One passenger called 911, and Jerry opened the box.

        He should have never been there in the first place, but why not make the most of it? “Donuts, anyone?”

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Lucky Socks

        “Why are you wearing your baseball socks?” Mom asked. She must have spotted the neon orange.

        “They’re lucky.” I’d worn them all summer and our team had won the championship. “I have a biology test today.”

        “You don’t need them. You studied for it.” 

        Mom didn’t know I’d stolen a pen from my brother’s backpack. Danny got an “A” in biology last year.  Now it was my turn.

        But when I started to label the parts of the cell, Danny’s pen ran out of ink. Oh, crap. The pen hadn’t been worth stealing.

        Good thing, I wore my lucky socks.  

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Say Cheese!

Jamal waited at the hotel entrance, half-hidden behind a potted palm, camera in hand. He’d waited here since Sunday night. Now it was raining, but Jamal didn’t move. He’d sent his partner after coffee.

         Carly arrived with an umbrella, too. She handed him the coffee cup.

        “Thanks.” He sipped the hot drink.

        ”Variety reported Brad’s in Palm Springs with Jennifer,” she said. “Are you sure Angelina went in there?”

        “She’s been missing since Friday and he’s not worried.” Jamal chuckled. “The picture I get when Angelina comes out could be worth thousands, especially if she’s with George.”

Zombies!

        Clouds shrouded the moon and the dark night deepened. Lisa shivered. “I’m scared,” she said, clutching her boyfriend’s hand. “What’s that?”

        Screams came from the far side of the field.

        “Zombies are over there.” He pulled her along the corn row. “I’ll get you out of here, trust me.”

        She giggled. “My hero.”

        He stopped, holding her close. “Does a hero deserve a kiss?”

        Laughing, she pushed him away. “Wait. Someone’s coming. Are those torches?”

        The lights appeared out of the darkness illuminating grotesque, bloody faces.

        Lisa shrieked, “Zombies!”

        Like a true hero, Brad grabbed her hand and they ran.

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A Moral Mistake

        “Morals?” The cockroach smirked. “What’s that?” He wore an eye patch and carried a laser gun.

        “Rules and regulations.” Mrs. Bunny picked a flower and placed it in her basket. “It’s how the game is played.”

        “There are rules? Since when?” The cockroach shot a daisy with his laser and petals flew everywhere. “I don’t need no stinkin’ morals.”

        “Children know the difference between right and wrong.”

        The cockroach swore.

        A booming voice sounded, “Send the bug with the eye patch to Mayhem, level M.”

        Poof! The cockroach disappeared.

        Mrs. Bunny smiled wisely. He thought morals were for the weak.

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Footprints in the Snow

I’m a believer. I know Sasquatch is out there.  I’ve seen its tracks and heard it howl.  When I was a teenager, winter camping with my scout troop, we’d spent the night in snow caves. The next morning we found giant footprints. We followed them to a frozen, snow-covered lake.   

        That’s when we heard it howl. Boy, howdy.

        I was a dumb kid. I went out on the ice to where the footprints in the snow suddenly ended at a crack but continued on the other side. Sasquatch had stepped over it, but I couldn’t. I ran back, a believer.

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Charity?

        Will dipped his pen in the inkwell. He brought it to the paper, waiting for inspiration. None came. The candle flickered and a door closed behind him. Anne had entered the room.

        “What are you writing tonight?” she asked.

        “It’s a comedy about a couple who constantly haggle.”

        She tickled his ear. “Like us?”

        He smirked. “What do you know of charity?”

        “The Bible tells us, it is the greatest of all.” She blew out the candle.

        “Oh, foul charity.” Laughing, he pulled Anne into his lap and kissed her eager lips.

        She giggled. “Who can sever love from charity?

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Liberty

            Liberty McGhee was born on Independence Day, twenty-two years ago. Ever since she was old enough to wave the flag, she’d dreamed of serving her country, and joined the Marines Corps after graduating from high school.

        Liberty had spunk as well as beauty and brains.  She trained as a helicopter technician, quickly advancing in rank.  All the Marine pilots wanted her on their maintenance teams. However, one lieutenant wanted her on his home team. She ducked for cover whenever he tried to kiss her. But Liberty had no refuge the night he dropped to his knee and proposed marriage.

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Job Hunter

        Savannah sat at her computer, filling out the online application. Education: Which sounded more impressive, Harvard or Stanford? Work experience: Saks Fifth Avenue or Abercrombie and Fitch?

        She remembered her father’s advice. “Never tell the truth when a lie will get you through the door faster.”

        With a confident smile, she filled out the form and pressed “Enter”. The truth was boring. She had graduated from Idaho State University in Pocatello, Idaho with a degree in accounting. But Bloomingdale’s must never know that.

        Her phone buzzed and she answered the call. “Hi, Dad.”

         “How’s job hunting?”

        “Piece of cake.”

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Sacked

Today’s prompt: The girl shouldn’t have been sacked, but if he said anything . . .

        Dreams Come True Mattress Company was a nightmare. The manager was literally an ogre. Most of the employees were elves—little people with pointy ears. The sales representative drank Bloody Mary for lunch. But Theobald needed a job. So he went to work in the shipping department where mattresses were wrapped in sheets before being loaded into cardboard boxes.

        This morning he heard a moan coming from the back of the warehouse. A beautiful, young elf struggled in the sheets. The girl shouldn’t have been sacked, but if he said anything, he’d be sacked too. Smiling mischievously, he climbed in.

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Who Done It?

There had been many theories about how she had been murdered.

        Becca studied the prompt and grimaced. Its wording was awkward, and the repeated phrases annoyed her. Bored, she glanced about the classroom. Ms. Walker, her English teacher, sat half-hidden by the laptop monitor on her desk. Was she playing solitaire again?

        The students scribbled madly, but Becca remained stumped. Theories were only rumors. What about evidence?

        She imagined Ms. Walker’s bloody body splattered on the pavement. Had she been pushed out the window or was she run over by a school bus? Smiling wickedly, Becca began to write.

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No Excuses

Today’s prompt: I offer no excuses

        Brandon stood before the judge, head bowed and heart thumping. His lawyer and coached him on what to say, but he couldn’t remember any of it right now. After a three week trial, he finally had a chance to explain what had happened.   

        The eye-witness accounts had been damning, though the forensic evidence had been inconclusive.

        The judge leered at him from the bench.”What do you have to say for yourself, young man?” 

        Brandon swallowed hard. Finally, he spoke. “I offer no excuses. I did it, and I’m glad I did it. And I’d do it again. ”

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Crush Hour

        It was crush hour in Los Angeles—trucks to the right of me, cars to the left. Five lanes of traffic had crawled to a stop and I was due at a meeting in twenty minutes. I thumbed the office number.

        My secretary answered. “Where are you?” she demanded. “The Avenger's here.”

        “Stuck on the 2-oh-5.”

        “Shall I call Superman?” she whispered.

        “What could he do?”

        “Give you a literal lift.”

        I couldn’t see any other way out of this mess. “Sure,” I said, smiling at myself in the rearview mirror. “I’ll promise him a role in my next blockbuster.”

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Spoiled

       Chandler always got what she wanted, including her cherry-red Lamborghini, a gift from an Arab prince.  Balenciaga, Givenchy—only the most expensive brands would do. She wore Mikimoto pearls tonight, to accent a black Oscar de la Renta gown. It was premier night at the Cannes Film Festival, and she was alone.     

       Impossible!

       Her leading man was gorgeous, but married. She wasn’t about to break up the happy home.  

      “Who am I kidding?” she said aloud, punching up his number on her cell phone. “Hello, handsome,” she purred. “Where are you?”

       “Downstairs, at the bar.”

       “I’m bored. Come on up.”

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Beware of Bears!

        Lost in the forest, Goldie was relieved to find a cabin. She knocked and the door swung open. Cobwebs clung to the windows. Mice scattered across the floor. No one had been there for a long time.

        Her gaze went to the table. The dusty, old book was sitting there, just begging to be read. It was a hand-written journal kept by a forest ranger thirty-two years ago. She opened to the last page, wondering if he had explained why he’d abandoned the cabin.

        “Sighted three grizzly’s today. Mamma bear and cubs. Must be careful not to disturb them.”

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True Love

        George Wilson fell in love with Myrtle Hastings the first time he saw her one fateful morning in September, 1941, in Social Studies class. She had a twinkle in her eye that let him know she liked him, too. They dated every weekend, and on Halloween they shared their first kiss.

        On December 7^th, the world turned upside down. George joined the Marines and Myrtle worked in an airplane factory. She wrote to him every day.

        Two years later, George came home on crutches. Myrtle met him at the station. Her eyes met his, and the twinkle was still there.

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Where's Nicky?

        Five year-old Nicky was lost in the Christmas rush. The big day was less than a week away, and things were hectic at the North Pole. The elves worked in round-the-clock shifts. The reindeer pawed the ground, eager to fly. Nicky’s older brothers and sisters were given tasks in the mailroom, but he had nothing to do.

        “Where’s Nicky?” Mrs. Santa asked.

        A pointy-eared elf answered, “I saw him in Santa’s office.”

        She found him hiding under her husband’s desk. “What are you doing? Is there something you want to tell me, son?”

        “All I want for Christmas is Daddy.”

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Surprise!

        Six days a week for the past thirty-three years, Rosie had wakened at 3:00 a.m. and gone to work at the bakery. Doughnuts needed an early start. This morning memories filled her thoughts when she turned the key and opened the door.    

        “Surprise!” her friends shouted. “Happy Birthday!” They sang the song as numbers 6 and 5 were lit on a cake.

        Laughing, Rosie thanked them. She made a wish and blew.

        “Will you retire now?” someone asked.

        “What would I do?”

        “Travel.”

        “Where would I go?”

        “Las Vegas—white-hair heaven.”

        She frowned. “I’m too old to start again.”

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Annabelle's Secret

        Annabelle was ten years old, the only child of a wealthy banker. Pampered and spoiled, she lived in a mansion on the Hudson River. Every afternoon, her governess, Miss McGrady, drank Lydia Pinkham’s elixir to calm her nerves. She’d sleep, freeing Annabelle. The child got into all sorts of mischief, until the day Annabelle found a locked door in the east wing.

        As we all know, there is nothing as tempting as a locked door. She knocked first and then peeked through the keyhole. Annabelle’s screams woke the governess.

        Seventy years later, Annabelle still wouldn’t tell anyone what she saw.

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Curious Lookey-Loo

        

        “Are they still there?” Jim asked from behind the counter.

        “Yeah.” I had been watching them quarrel through the window—our store manager and the customer. “I think the boss is winning.”

        Jim smirked. “Are you sure? Isn’t the customer always right?”

        “Not when she walks out of the store without paying.” I sprayed Windex on the glass and rubbed circles, my ploy for being at the window and not behind the counter. “Uh, oh. Here come the cops.”

        “What’s she doing now?”

        “Running! And guess what she left behind?”

        “The stolen goods?”

        “Nah. “ I laughed. “Her high-heeled shoes.”

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Sure Shot!

        Annie loved her job at the Ever After Bridal Shop. The place had a radiance about it. She sold, displayed, and fitted exquisite bridal gowns.

        But she never wore one.

        Annie was single and determined to stay that way. Ever after? What a joke. Her parents had divorced when she was twelve. Her sister’s marriage had lasted only two years.

        But as she arrayed the skirt of a brocade gown in the display window this morning, tingles ran up and down her spine. She looked out to see Mr. Absolutely Right smiling at her. Too late! Cupid’s arrow had struck.

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I've Got You, Babe

        Ginger was his good-luck girl. She accompanied Big Nose Nelligan whenever he played poker in the smoke-filled room behind the butcher shop. Tonight she wore her red sequin dress, faux fur stole, and the zircon ring Big Nose had given her after his last big win. It glistened like a diamond under the bare light bulb dangling from the ceiling.

        “Gimme a kiss,” Big Nose said. He puckered up.

        Suddenly the sirens sounded. Cursing, Big Nose jumped up, knocking over his chair.

        Ginger hung on to his arm. “If you leave now, you lose everything.”

        “Nah. I’ve got you, babe.”

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Stunning!

WonHundred Word Wednesday

Flash Fiction Fun

        Detective Spencer came around the corner of the building, pistol in hand. She discovered Officer Quintero on the ground. His partner, Officer Gallagher stood nearby.

        “What happened?” she asked.

        Gallagher grinned triumphantly, a tazer in his hand. “He was stunned.”

        “Oh, no!” She knelt by Quintero’s side. His muscles twitched. Spittle drooled from his mouth. “Are you okay?”      

        Quintero groaned.  

        She glared at Gallagher. “You were supposed to taze the suspect. Not your partner.”

        “He tried to taze me first.” Gallagher laughed nervously. “I grabbed it away from him.”

        “Hand it over.” She took the weapon, aimed and fired.

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Close Call

        

WonHundred Word Wednesday

Flash Fiction Fun

        Eight hundred years ago, the Ancestral Pueblo People lived in an alcove high on a rock wall. They had built apartments of mud and straw, tucked under the lip of the overhanging cliff. Every day the adults climbed ladders to tend their crops on the mesa above, leaving their children behind. Always alert, grandmothers kept watch over the little ones, especially those who ventured too close to the edge. One little girl wanted to follow her mother up the ladder. Her foot slipped and she started to fall, but her grandmother caught her arm and pulled her back to safety.

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Under the New Mexico Sun

WonHundredWord Wednesday

Flash Fiction Fun!

Today’s prompt: The old woman turned and smiled.

        She was probably eighty years old. Maybe ninety. Wisps of white hair escaped from under her straw hat as she worked at her easel. I approached quietly, not wanting to startle her. She was a legend in Taos. Everyone knew the woman who painted larger-than-life flowers. And bones. Sun-bleached vertebrae in the desert.

        I was lucky to meet her out here on the dirt road. “Excuse me,” I said.

        The old woman turned and smiled. Her apron was stained with paint.

        “I found a horse skull,” I said. “Do you want it?”

        Georgia O’Keeffe set down her brush. “Thank you.”

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Stage Fright

WonHundred Word Wednesday

Flash Fiction Fun

        Standing in the wings, I watched the actors on stage. I had a few short lines in the play, but it was a crucial part. Anyway, that’s what my drama teacher said. He insisted I say the lines slowly and clearly.

        Nervous now, I straightened the gold buttons on my red uniform. Queen Antoinette wrung her hands, pacing back and forth, reciting her monologue.

        I heard my clue and strode onto the stage. “I have a message, my lady.”

        “Thank heavens. What did he say?”

        Suddenly, my mind went blank. I fumbled the words. “Midnight, on the bridge. Come alone.”

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On the Warpath

                               Grandpa sat close to the hearth, a quilt draped over his knees. His wire-rimmed spectacles reflected the firelight.

        “Tell us about the Injun war, Grandpa,” little Abe said. “When they burned the fort.”

        Despite the warmth, Grandpa shivered. He couldn’t remember what he’d eaten today, but memories of that night of terror were as clear as the ice on the water bucket.

        “It was a freezing night when the natives took up arms,” he said.

        “Like tonight?”

        Grandpa coughed and spat into the fire. “Deerfield woke to screams at dawn.”

        “What did you do?”

        “I was a boy. I cried.”

Let’s read more flash fiction:

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